The Beautiful Beast
by wrighter-chic13
Summary: A revamped twist on the classic story of Beauty and The Beast...I know another overworked plotline but this one has...evil fathers, werewolves, and other mysterious things.


The bells that hung in the Newerton Cathedral were beautiful, and I remember that many of my gloomiest, saddest times were spent wandering around the two twin bell towers at all hours of the night and in the earliest hours of morning They rang out over the town at dawn to wake the workers, slaves, and servants and again at sunset to send us to sleep.

Mrs. Fig, the Naughtons' cook, took special pleasure in complaining about the Cathedral bells. "Oh, me poor achin' skull," she would moan, clutching her head in one hand and a butcher knife in the other and the maids, Tess and Camille, would roll their eyes and tell her to stop her bellyaching. Mrs. Fig would yell at them to get out of her kitchens and shouldn't they be off cleaning something?

This was usually around the time that she would notice me lingering around the door and beckon me inside, tempting me with a comforting "There ye are, child" and some fruit.

With her graying hair that never, in all the years I ever knew her, seemed to ever be neither brown nor gray, Mrs. Fig, who preferred me to call her Auntie Fig or Figgie, was one of only two true sources of comfort in my life at the Naughtons'. If I'd had a rough day, and most days were, she was always there in the kitchen with open arms and freshly baked cookies. When I'd just arrived, scared and confused and grieving for the loss of my sisters, it had been she who had shown me to and helped me get settled into the room I was to share with Tess and Camille.

The whole of the Naughton household seemed intent on being as nasty as possible – especially Rein Naughton, whom my father had lost me to in that fateful hand of cards. Originally from Velour, a harbor town across the sea, Rein had married a girl native to Newerton (she'd been visiting an aunt who lived across the waters, or something) and sailed here with her after she'd gotten pregnant with their first child, a son whom Mrs. Naughton had named Galeigh after her grandfather, or so said Mary, head laundry girl and gossip queen of the Naughton manor.

I'd met Mary on my second morning, when she mysteriously appeared in my room and demanded that I give her all my soiled petticoats, dresses, and undergarments, and thoroughly shocking me. We'd certainly had servants at home, but none with such a direct, blunt way of speaking. After informing her, rather abruptly, I'm afraid, that I had no dirty clothing for her, her plain face at first lit up into a charming grin and she said, "If things continue like this every day, Miss, you'll be an extraordinarily filthy girl and we'll be fast friends."

Mary made it her business to first find out all there was to know about me so she could reciprocate with just as much about herself (from her childhood in the lower ranks of the household to her grander, cleaner position today) and even more about everyone she worked for. 

"I'm sure you've already met Master Naughton," she said dryly, and I shivered disagreeably. She clucked her tongue and shook her head. The color must have drained from my face, for she patted my cheek encouragingly. "Don't worry, he's not all so bad. Just try to make sure you muss your hair up a bit and try not to look so presentable all the time and perhaps he'll move onto someone else, Miss."

Her words, as reassuring as they were, did not qualm my fears.

I was introduced to the Master's family on my third day in the Manor. By family, I meant his children and both of his mistresses, the older-looking one holding a child no older than three years of age, while the younger woman, who looked to be around thirty or so, had a toddler hiding in her skirts.

I was shocked, to say the least, and almost immediately felt sorry for the emotionless young girls and boy sitting next to Master Naughton's right, positive they were his children. My father had always been rather piggish, but this man represented all that a woman would dream of and everything she should fear; a conundrum.

"And now we inspect the newest addition the household," he said silkily, leaving his children to stand before me. His brown hair was brushed to the side and dark, dilated eyes scrutinized me closely.

A hand, which had probably never seen a day of work in years yet was still browned from the sun, reached for me and wrapped around my arm. "Well, at least you aren't the pig your father was. And here I was afeard you'd weigh in at more than our hog." The mistresses gave obligatory giggles and he smirked at them before turning back to give me another once-over.

"Eyes…lovely. No one around here has blue eyes, my dear – I find yours gorgeous. But your hair…is it naturally such a silver color? It will soon come to make you look years beyond your own. Have you ever thought to dye it with rhubarb or some such berry? Maybe Cecilia can help you." He glanced over at the younger of his two women. "Of course, Cecilia would be happy to help you. I should think that it should be tied back in some such manner as well."

My hands curled into fists at my sides as I tried to clear my face of any emotion whatsoever. I refused to give in to this…this…beast.

He cleared his throat, calling me back to the real world. "Well anyway, your figure is good enough, though I should say I prefer smaller bosoms on my women, but again, we can solve that with a corset."

By now my face must have been bright red. How dare he offend me so, and in front of other people…other people I hardly knew? Had the man no taste for courtesy? Obviously not, for he moved on to comment about my legs, my neck, and most embarrassingly, about my waist. I had more than half a mind to slap him right across the face, but wasn't sure how I'd be to survive if I was thrown from this household to live on the streets of Newerton. One thing was for sure – I refused to become loose and earn my money through prostitution.

So I bit my lip and held my tongue with my teeth, knowing that to wag it would lead to my undoing.  
The next day, for I arrived very late the day before, I was given a list of my duties. Aside from helping Camille and Tess clean the various rooms, I was to be the one who went with Figgie into the main of town every other day to purchase and sell goods. Apparently we had a rather good system going and the household made a majority of its money off of the vegetables, poultry, and etceteras that the servants farmed and took into market.

I was also assigned a new set of clothes – my clothes from home were to be cut up and used for rags. I was allowed to keep a larger piece of my skirt to tie about my hair.

As a servant, I wasn't (on a usual basis) allowed to mingle with the Naughton children. I was considered to be part of a different class than they were, so naturally we were kept separated, though at one time I might have gone to school with such children. This was probably the most difficult thing to learn to deal with – my loss of dignity. Rein Naughton made sure that my pride be trampled over time and time again, as long as it kept me in line and my tongue from wagging too fiercely.

-

It was raining the day that Figgie took me to Newerton Market for the first time. I remember because I used to love the rain, but for the first time in my life I hated it. The coldness bit at me, and the water was sharp and I could almost imagine it cutting at me and the water streaming down my face was blood instead.

Figgie, motherly as she was, insisted on getting me as prepared as possible for the experience before-time.

"This won't," she said, "be like most other markets ye've visited before, dearie. Newerton's a bit more lawless than your home, I's afraid, so be's a careful to stick close to your Auntie Fig." With that, she turned to grab an extra head scarf off of the pegs on the wall. "Oh – and if ye sees somethings ye thinks is a bit oof an odder, than just be letting me know before ye tells anyone else, alright?"

Confused, I allowed her to tie the scarf gently around my neck to keep the harsh rain from biting any unnecessary skin and then up and back over my hair twice more. "What do you mean by odd, Aunt Fig?"

Mary, who was passing by with a tweed basket full of soiled clothes at the moment, heard my question and her eyes caught with Fig's watery ones. She turned her worried gaze to me moments later before continuing on as though nothing had happened, but at the door, stopped once more. "She means the wolves, Cherish. She's talking 'bout the wolves."

-

Figgie grossly overestimated my abilities to help at market, and I'm afraid that for the better part of that first day I held her back more than assisted as I was supposed to. In the end, Figgie sent me to sit at the edge of Market, near the path back to the Naughton manor and told me to wait for her to return, telling me kindly that we'd just have to practice at it.

Sighing, I sat down beneath what little cover I could find from the rain, just a little ways from a few vendors' carts. Searching with my eyes, I saw that one of the carts was filled with roses, the flowers protected by a carefully strung canopy that kept the water out.

Roses were extremely rare plants and as far as I knew, it was nearly impossible to grow them.  
Unable to contain my curiosity, I got to my feet and rushed across the dirt road to the other side to marvel at the reds and yellows and pinks.

They were all equally beautiful, but I found myself fancying the red ones especially. Reaching out, I took one in my hand and touched the petals softly.

"They're a mite bit hard to grow this side of the ocean, but if ye've the right knowledge and the right means then 'tis not so bad," said the vendor, an elderly man with no teeth. He gave me a kind smile. "Go ahead now, lass, take one."

Surprised, I began my protests, but he insisted, plucking the half-opened, dark red rose I'd had my eye on from its place and handing it over. "Be careful, now, though, they've a sharper thorns than usual this year," he warned and showed me where I should place my fingers so that I wouldn't get cut.

"Thank you so much, sir, I truly appreciate it," I said quickly, curtsying like Figgie'd shown me. The old man waved it off and grinned good naturedly.  
"Stop by any time ye'd like, child, and old Horris'll give ye a rose or two to take home to yer mother."

Something suddenly caught his attention over my shoulder. "Oy! Figgie! What're ye doing in market on such a miserable day as this?"

I spun about, rose in hand, just in time to see Auntie Fig rush toward us from across the road...and the figure of a wolf disappear into the nearby trees, eyes glowing dark, dark amber.


End file.
